


The past don’t mean shit to me. (Now that’s a lie.)

by leyley09



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Flashbacks, M/M, Reminiscing, Sad with a Happy Ending, sort of canon compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-25 00:12:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13822404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leyley09/pseuds/leyley09
Summary: For years, February 21 has been the worst day of his year.





	The past don’t mean shit to me. (Now that’s a lie.)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scarredsodeep](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarredsodeep/gifts).



> You can blame this directly on scarredsodeep. All I did was speculate on why we got so much MCR-themed content on Frank's Instagram in one day, and she insisted I elaborate, and then this happened.

It’s nearly 11 AM before he notices the date. His phone screen goes black while he waits for it to hurt like it did last year, a sharp sting like hand sanitizer in a paper cut, but it’s more like a week-old bruise. It hurts if he pokes at it too much, but just thinking about it doesn’t make him hyperventilate like it used to.

February 21.

Such an innocuous date. Theoretically, there are other people on the planet that look at this date approaching on the calendar and wince.

Theoretically, he could pick up his now-dark phone and text at least three of those people, but.

But.

Two of them will be sympathetic; they try, but they didn’t lose what he lost. They don’t _really_ understand.

The other one, well; it’s debatable if he’d get a response at all. Other days, other topics, yes. This day, this topic? Absolute radio silence.

He knows; he’s tried before.

It’s not that he doesn’t understand why, but left-brain understanding has never had anything to do with right-brain emotion. Understanding doesn’t mean he ~~feels~~ felt any less betrayed.  


_We need to talk._

_Such a simple text, straightforward, direct. A basic sentence, but it comes with a Titanic’s-worth of baggage._

_Abt?_

_Call me when you’re free_

_He’d rather have a root canal without anesthesia._

_He’s not busy. He could be; it’s late enough in the day that he could be on his way somewhere to do something. He could claim to be busy and put this off until tomorrow. Or next week. Or never._

_He could, but he won’t because he’s not going to think about anything else until it’s done._

_He makes a vague statement about making a phone call and disappears into the guest room/office, shutting the door behind him to block out the cheerful theme song of whatever the twins are watching._

_It’s quiet, the sounds of his life muffled by decent insulation and a solid door._

_His phone sits on the desk, dark, blank, waiting._

_inhaleweneed exhaletotalk inhaleweneed exhaletotalk inhaleweneed exhaletotalk inhaleweneed exhaletotalk inhaleweneed exhaletotalk inhaleweneed exhaletotalk inhaleweneed exhaletotalk inhaleweneed exhaletotalk inhaleweneed exhaletotalk inhaleweneed exhaletotalk inhaleweneed exhaletotalk inhaleweneed exhaletotalk inhaleweneed exhaletotalk inhaleweneed exhaletotalk inhaleweneed exhaletotalk inhaleweneed exhaletotalk inhaleweneed exhaletotalk inhaleweneed exhaletotalk inhaleweneed exhaletotalk inhaleweneed exhaletotalk_

_He’s not moving but his phone is getting further and further away._

_Probably because he’s hyperventilating, okay, need to stop that._

_Focus. Breathe._

_Slower. Slower. Slower._

_He can’t do this, he can’t make this phone call right now._

_His phone lights up._

_Have you talked to G_

_Shit._

_God-fucking-dammit._

_He dials before he loses his nerve again.  It rings and rings and rings; he’s about to hang up (like hell he’s leaving a voicemail right now) when the call connects._

_Connects, but no one says anything._

_If Gerard thinks he’s going to talk first, this is going to be a very long, very silent phone call._

_“Hey Frank.”_

_That’s not happy-you’re-calling voice, not I-miss-you-so-much-it-hurts, not even I-can’t-stand-the-sight-of-you-right-now. It’s too polite, too formal, too neutral._

_That’s Gerard’s ‘professional’ voice, the one he breaks out in super-serious label meetings with lawyers and accountants and executives that he wants to take him seriously even if his hair’s a weird color or he’s wearing more glitter than a kindergarten Valentine’s party._

_It’s never, ever - not even once - been directed at him._

_He puts his best I’m-being-polite-because-it’s-inadvisable-to-be-an-asshole-to-you voice on in return. “Gerard.”_

_“So, um. We’ve been talking, and we’ve all got other things we want to do or try and, uh, we think it’s time to end it.”_

_“End. What.”_

_“The band, Frank.”_

_There’s more after that, but he loses it in the white noise-static that’s happening in his head._

_“I think it’ll be good for everybody.”_

_“Everybody. Really.”_

_“Yeah, really.”_

_He lets the silence drag on for a minute, for another while he tries to get a coherent sentence out of all the half-formed phrases screaming through his mind._

_“I’m flying out on Monday, for our studio time Tuesday. Can we talk about this when I get there?’_

_“I cancelled the studio time.”_

_“Excuse me?”_

_“Frank,” Gerard sighs, like Frank’s being particularly difficult, “this wasn’t a call to get your opinion on if we should break up. It’s over, we’re breaking up.”_

_He’s not going to cry, he’s not going to scream…. “Just-- just the band?”_

_The silence on the other end of the line is answer enough._

_“You know what? Fuck you, Gerard. You don’t get to make this decision unilaterally. This is not a mother-fucking dictatorship. You want this to be over? Then you tell me to my fucking face. And not just you, Mikey and Ray too. All of you are going to look me in the goddamn eyes and tell me how and why you’ve made this major life decision on my behalf ‘for my own good’ or whatever bullshit you’ve convinced them of.”_

_“Frank, we talked about this, about the band not lasting forever--”_

_“No, Gerard, we’re not talking about this over the phone. You don’t get to take the easy way out of this. Fucking save it for Monday.”_

_He doesn’t disconnect the call so much as hurl his phone across the room. It dents the drywall as the screen shatters into a million tiny pieces._

 

_It’s an appropriate metaphor._

  


He’d gotten on a plane the following Monday morning, eyes still puffy from a combination of crying for three days and not sleeping enough. LA had been too sunny, too bright after the bleakness of February in Jersey. Instead of a friendly face at baggage claim, there was an anonymous driver.

Then there was a very unpleasant meeting at the label offices. He yelled a lot, Mikey and Ray took turns trying to play peacemaker, and Gerard said surprisingly little.  


_He’d let Mikey suggest a break to calm down, knowing full well that it was less about Frank calming down than it was about finding coffee. He ‘storms off’ in the opposite direction of the exit, hiding in a dark empty office until he’s sure Ray and Mikey are gone on their coffee run._

_Idiots._

_They really should have made him come with them._

_Gerard’s looking out the window when he comes back into the conference room they’ve taken over. He doesn’t seem to notice he’s not alone until the door closes and the lock catches, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t try to get away when Frank invades his space._

_There’s none of the looseness he’s expecting, none of the feeling that one of them is a compass and the other is true north (Frank’s never sure which one is which). It’s like Gerard thinks he’s about to get mugged._

_“So. Just like that, after all we’ve been through, after everything we’ve been, you’ve decided it’s done. Over. Finished.”_

_“Yes,” Gerard whispers._

_“In this scenario you’ve concocted, do we hate each other’s guts or are we being amicable about this?”_

_Gerard blinks at him, almost like he’s rebooting._

_“This isn’t difficult, Gerard, do I get to go home and tell everyone you broke my heart or was this a ‘mutual decision’ that we’re both sad about but will get over?”_

_“What are you- broke your- Frank, I never-”_

_“DAMMIT, FRANK, UNLOCK THIS DOOR.” Never let it be said that Mikey Way can’t be loud when he needs to be._

_“JUST A FUCKING MINUTE.”_

_There’s just one thing… if this is it, he needs to do this one last time. He leans into Gerard, backing him into the glass, and pushes up onto his toes for better leverage._

_He’s had a lot of practice kissing Gerard; he knows when to press, when to release, when teeth are okay, when he’s getting carried away with the tongue._

_He drags it out until most of him is screaming not to stop - and then he does. He moves away gradually, taking first his weight, then his hands, and then his eyes away from Gerard, before walking around the table and opening the door._

_Mikey and Ray almost get stuck in the door trying to come through at the same time. He’d laugh if he thought he could do anything other than cry right now._

_“You guys do whatever you think is best. Send me any paperwork you need me to sign,” he tells the floor._

_And then he leaves._  
  


That first week, first month had been a struggle. (Anyone who heard .stomachaches. could probably tell you that.) The next February 21st he didn’t bother getting out of bed at all, but it wasn’t a completely wasted day - he’d written all the lyrics to .All I Want Is Nothing.  
  
_i think back to the heart attack, when our world seemed so brand new. i wasted time with a crooked spine when i really should have spent my time with you. now all i want is nothing, because all i want is what i can’t have. all i want is nothing, if i can’t have just one more single second of your undivided attention. all i want is you. all i have now are memories of how you felt lying next to me. all we are is a memory. i used to have a best friend, now just one more enemy. and all i want is nothing, because all i want is what i can’t have. all i want is nothing, if i can’t have just one more second of a time when i was yours and you were mine. and all i want is everything we never had before but i still want more. all i want is you, to want me_.

 

Looking back, each February 21st has been a little less awful than the one before. He’s kept himself busy, recording and touring, proving to himself and to everyone else that he could do this, be the frontman, still create and share music that connected with people, that helped them feel like someone else understood.

This realization feels good, feels like something he would be proud to share -- if there were anyone home to share it with.

Feeling like that means today is one of the days he can handle looking at the stuff people send him on Twitter and Instagram. A lot of it is cool; he has very talented fans, and he’s impressed that they’re willing to share their work with him directly. They’re braver than he would have been in their place.

Some of it, though, some it still hurts, and he tends to scroll past those as quickly as possible. Today, though; today, he’s going to look.

Because the universe has a wicked sense of humor, the first thing he comes across is a video clip of Gerard kissing him on stage.

 

_He’s not saying Gerard does the exact same thing on stage every night, but there are things that make fairly regular appearances - paths around the stage during certain songs, dance ‘moves’ at certain lines, changed lyrics in certain places depending on the feel of the crowd._

_But this, this is new. New-ish. Not something he’s used to yet._

_Not so much the boundary pushing, that’s what they’re about, after all, but there’s boundary pushing and then there’s bringing a wrecking ball and dynamite and a fleet of bulldozers. This whole kissing thing feels like all of that and some extra stuff._

_It’s not just the general boundaries of rock music they’re pushing._

_He doesn’t like to be reminded that he’s smaller than everyone else (as if he could possibly forget), but it doesn’t bother him to have Gerard manhandling him. He never thought he’d be okay with kissing anyone in front of an audience like this, but he kinda likes it (though god knows not as much as Gerard does)._

_He can play through a lot of shit, but Gerard is… distracting, beguiling, obstreperous and vociferous even when he isn’t talking._

_Bluntly, he’s sometimes lucky he’s still standing when Gerard lets him go._

_The thing is… he’d kind of like to find out if kissing Gerard feels like that in the privacy of anywhere-not-on-stage._

_How do you bring that up though? How do you go from “yeah I liked the new issue” to “so would you be interested in kissing me here in the bus lounge, for science”?_

_He’s been trying to figure that out for the better part of a week._

_In the end, he doesn’t have to. He’s wandering the back halls of this old venue, wondering if there’s an exit he can use that won’t set off the fire alarm when he hears too-loud whispering coming from up ahead and around a corner. It’s the kind of whispering that means people don’t want to be overheard but are also fighting._

_“It’s just a stage thing, Mikes, it doesn’t mean anything.”_

_“Like fuck it doesn’t mean anything. You forget I’ve seen you kiss a lot of people, Gee.”_

_“Well, I mean, of course it’s different than just some random, Mikes, it’s Frank.”_

_“That is exactly my point.”_

_“It’s not like that. He doesn’t--”_

_“Oh for fuck’s sake. Yes. He. Does. Would you like it in writing? Notarized? How many people do I need to drag over here to back me up before you’ll believe me that Frank is dying to jump your bones?”_

_That’s an invitation if he’s ever heard one._

_“Maybe just one person?” He leans his head around the corner. “I am, after all, the expert on who I’d like to be fucking.”_

_If Mikey doesn’t get to laugh in the next thirty seconds, he might explode._

_Gerard, on the other hand, looks like he’s hoping to be hit by an asteroid._

_“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I have been meaning to ask you about that.”_

_Mikey melts away like an ice cube in August, disappearing between one second and the next. Or maybe that’s just the impression Frank gets since he completely stopped paying attention to Mikey a minute ago._

_“I didn’t know how to bring it up, but, um, I’m not opposed to the kissing happening offstage. Or other stuff. Other stuff would be okay. Or great, probably great, just, I mean, it’s not like a requirement or anything--”_

_Gerard shuts him up with his mouth, which is the best possible way to stop the trainwreck that was happening. It’s better than it is on stage; his guitar isn’t in the way, for one thing. Gerard’s got both hands free instead of one full of microphone; he’s less spit-ty since he hasn’t been screaming five seconds before; there’s a handy-dandy wall doing a bang-up job of keeping Frank on his feet._

_There’s a moment of sudden weightlessness as the solid physical object behind him abruptly disappears. He hopes that means it was a door and not that he’s about to discover kissing Gerard gives him the ability to move through walls. (He’s not going to open his eyes and check; he has more important senses to focus on right now.) It gets darker a moment later, so that’s probably a yes on the door thing, and then he has to open his eyes because Gerard is backing away from him and that is absolutely the last thing he wants right now._

_“No, no, where are you going?”_

_“Frank, are you sure, I mean, this is a big deal--”_

_There’s more along that vein, words and phrases like “serious” and “big deal” and “consequences”, all of which mean that Gerard has overthought the fuck out of this as per usual._

_“Gee, baby, you should have thought of all that before you kissed me on stage.” A push and a twist and Gerard’s back hits the door with a pleasing thud. Whatever room they’re in has carpet, hallelujah, so it’s slightly less jarring to his knees when they connect with the floor than straight-up concrete would be. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to actually do this instead of just pretending I am.”_

_“O-kay?” He didn’t know Gerard could talk at that pitch._

_“Yeah?”_

_“Yes.” That’s better, sounds more like Gerard is on board with the idea than like he’s being threatened with it._

_“Awesome. Hold on to something.”_

_Fortunately for his shaking hands, Gerard’s hanging-out-backstage-without-cameras clothes aren’t as painted on as his stage gear, so there’s less peeling and more standard unbuckling. If he had to deal with a button fly right now, he’d probably lose an eye._

_It’s too dark to really see anything but that’s almost better. He can hear every little unintentional sound as Gerard moves, the barely-there whimpers he’s sure Gerard doesn’t know he’s making. While he wouldn’t put the smells of sex into his top five favorites, they’re still pretty vivid memory triggers; his mouth is watering already._

_Turns out that’s a good thing since there’s a lot more to Gerard’s dick than he was expecting, what with not being able to see it before he put it in his mouth. He adjusts; he can do this. He’s got plans to break out all his best tricks, all the things he likes personally, but he only gets through a handful of each before Gerard pulls his hair and screams his name on a note their last producer would have killed for._

_Ideally, he’d have liked a little more warning, but he’ll forgive Gerard because, well, let’s be real, what won’t he forgive Gerard. He spits onto the floor as he stands up, hoping the stain will end up behind the door if anyone ever comes in here again._

_“Ugh, Frank, that’s gross.”_

_He leans in to lick at the sweat running down Gerard’s neck. “Did you have a better idea?” He giggles a little bit at the flush he can feel and the goosebumps under his tongue. “Remind me, and we’ll try that next time.”_

_So quiet he almost doesn’t hear it even though Gerard’s talking right next to his ear, “Next time?”_

_“Or the time after that, or the one after that, or maybe--”_

_“Fine, shut up, you’ve made your point. Now--” and Frank finds himself with his back to the door before he’s registered movement - “if you’ll excuse me, I have something to cross off my to-do list.”_

_“Is this higher or lower on the list than save the world?”_

_“So much higher, baby, so mu--”_

 

That’s probably about enough of that.

 

He can’t reminisce all day, even if he sort of wants to now that he’s started. He has responsibilities, obligations, a grown-up life he’s pretty proud of, to be honest. He can focus, put all this aside and poke at the bruise later.

 

At least he can until he sees the girl in the MCR t-shirt.

 

So much for poking the bruise later.

It’s surprisingly okay though. Instead of the sharp shock it used to be, it too just feels like an old bruise, something that he could ignore if he wants to. He takes a stupid picture, laughing to himself when he notices that he’s been busted being weird (again). The thing he makes fun of best is himself, so he puts the picture on Instagram for everyone else to laugh at too.

 

 

He’s putting his phone down in the car a few minutes later when it dings with an incoming notification.

 

**gerardway just shared a post**

 

Of course. Why not today, of all days.

He puts the phone back down, starts the car, buckles his seatbelt.

And then it dings again.

 

**gerardway: Hey Frankie**

 

There’s no one in the car to see the truly ridiculous smile on his face as he checks that his phone’s bluetooth is on and taps a couple buttons.

It rings and rings and -- the call connects.

“Hey, Gee.”

  
  


He’s still smiling when he walks into the kitchen, humming to himself as he drops his keys on the counter.

He can’t blame Jamia for the way she deliberately looks at the calendar on the wall and back to him, disbelief all over her face. “Hi honey, how’s your day going?” Her voice somehow blends both curiosity and sarcasm, far too casual to be sincere in its simple politeness.

With anyone else, he might put up a front, but he’s found one of the perks of marriage is being yourself and having your spouse stay anyway. So he doesn’t fight the stupid grin, the dopey expression he’s sure is on his face. “I talked to Gee.”

“Today?”

He can only nod. He almost doesn’t believe it either.

“About anything important, for a change?”

That’s a little harsh, but it’s also fair. It’s not like they haven’t talked, haven’t seen each other in the last 5 years. There’s just always a convenient excuse to keep the conversation polite, easy, shallow.

To talk about kids and their weird behaviors instead of asking “why don’t you want me anymore.”

To talk about distant friends and family news instead of saying “I miss you so much I feel like I’m drowning sometimes.”

To talk about music or books or movies or politics or basically anything that isn’t the things they really, _really_ should discuss.

He knows it’s frustrated Jamia, but he’s never been good at starting these kinds of conversations. He’s always waiting for a better moment. So he thinks them instead and is moody as fuck for hours after a phone call, days after he’s seen Gerard in person. It hasn’t been fair to anyone, least of all himself, but he doesn’t know how else to be.

“Yeah, actually, we did.”

 

_“Are you busy?”_

_“Nah, just driving, and that voice-to-text is shit. What’s up?”_

_The other end of the call goes very quiet, not even a rustle or a sniff to indicate Gerard’s still there._

_“I need to apologize.”_

_Frank flips off the car that just cut him off while he decides how to respond to that. “To me?”_

_“Yeah.”_

_Ummm…. “What for, exactly?”_

_“For, um, for-- shit. For not-- for--.” There’s a frustrated sigh, and Frank can vividly picture the facial expression and hand gestures that go with it. “For fuck’s sake, Frank, I was only ever talking about the band breaking up, and I don’t even know why you would think that I meant anything else, and--”_

_“Wait a fucking second, what do you mean you were only talking about the band?! I asked you, specifically, if you meant just the band--”_

_“You caught me completely off guard and then you started shouting at me before I could deny it! I tried to remind you that we had a plan for that, but you weren’t listening, and then you hung up on me.”_

_Frank decides not to correct him about the ‘hanging up’ thing. There’s still a dent in the drywall; he had to move his office to the basement to get anything done, even after Jamia hung a painting over it._

_“And then in LA? You didn’t--”_

_“I tried! I was trying, then Mikey interrupted and you were kissing me like you were dying or like I was dying and then YOU JUST FUCKING LEFT ME.”_

_“AND YOU LET ME GO.”_

_“I KNOW AND I’M FUCKING SORRY, OKAY?!”_

_Frank can’t help it, the fact they’re fighting like this again, yelling apologies because neither of them knows when to shut up, is too funny. He’s almost glad he’s stuck at a red light while he breaks down in giggles. After a second, he hears Gerard make an amused noise, can picture him rolling his eyes._

_“I mean it, okay, I’m so fucking sorry. I should have chased you down the hall, down the sidewalk, all the way back to Jersey if I had to, but. But it fucking hurt, and then I was pissed at you for doing that. To be honest, it was easier to deal with all the label paperwork than try to figure out why you would-- Whatever, the point is they aren’t good excuses, and you deserved an apology a long time ago.”_

_Frank knuckles away a tear (or three) and makes a left turn to take the long route home. “Why today?”_

_The wet-sounding huff on the other end of the line makes him feel a little better. At least he’s not the only one crying. “Do you realize you’ve posted nothing but MCR-related stuff all day?”_

_Hmmm. He hadn’t really thought about it._

_“You don’t normally, like, you almost never acknowledge it, and that’s fine, right, you can do whatever you want on your own social media, but that makes it a little weird when that’s all you post today, of all fucking days. And I kinda couldn’t take it anymore.”_

_Frank drives another block before he gives up and pulls into the next parking spot he sees.  He still has to sit there for a minute before he actually say anything._

_“Thank you for apologizing. And I’m sorry too, for jumping to conclusions.”_

_“It’s okay, well, I mean. It wasn’t okay, but I forgive you.”_

_“Good.” He’s almost too choked up to talk. “I forgive you, too.”_

_He’s got to pull himself together; he can’t just sit on the side of the street crying all afternoon. Someone will eventually get suspicious._

_“Frankie?”_

_“Yeah, Gee?”_

_“We’ve been really fucking stupid.”_

_It shocks a laugh out of him because it’s painfully true. “Yeah, we have.”_

_“Can I call you later?”_

_“Yeah.” He kind of hates that he sounds like a twelve-year-old with their first crush, distracted and breathless just at the thought of a phone call. He hates it, but he’s not the slightest bit surprised._

_“Good. ‘Cause I miss you so much I feel like I’m drowning sometimes.”_

_Fuck, he was so close to level again. “Okay, I’m hanging up on you now because I have to drive and I can’t if you’re going to keep saying shit like that.”_

_Gerard’s laugh is quiet and a little muffled, like he’s trying to hide it. It’s also a little bit evil, which both bodes well and oh-so-badly for later._

_“Talk to you later, Frankie.”_

_“You better.”_  
  


He zones back into his kitchen and his wife making no attempt to hide her amusement. “That good, huh?”

“Shut up.”

His phone dings from his pocket while she giggles at him. Whatever his face is doing reading the text sends her into peals of laughter that echo throughout the room.

 

<3  7 your time  <3 

**Author's Note:**

> Lyrics for All I Want Is Nothing came directly from Frank's website (what a handy resource)
> 
> Come say hi on tumblr or twitter - @leyley09


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